Sithophilia
by Little-Firestar84
Summary: Adult tag to 4.9- Before leaving the cafe, she asks him what he was thinking about; he simply answers her with a word- Sitophilia. She can't wait to get to know what he ment. And he has every intention of helping her out.


A/N- I was editing my bigbang fic, and at the same time, thinking about a way of ending chapter 7 of freaks, geeks and lovers, when this little smutty thing called fic came to mind...spoilers for 4.9!

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><p><em>Sitophilia: a sexual fetishism in which participants are aroused by erotic situations involving food. <em>

Sitting in front of Lisbon at their favorite cafe, he wonders if she is aware of what she is doing, if she knows the effect she is having on him. And… well, it's not just that he doesn't appreciate it,, but… there are few settings where he could enjoy this particular happening a little bit more, and here, in public, with Lisbon on display…

He doesn't like it. He hates sharing, and when it comes to her, it's even worse. Especially now.

She takes another spoon of white ice cream, and, closing her eyes, she eats it, lips thigh around the metal, moaning with closed eyes while she lifts her head enough to give him a good view of her neck, long and soft and creamy, almost as pale as the cream she is eating right now.

It's almost indecent. But, still, he can't help it. He keeps looking at her, eyes wide open, gulping. And he is pretty sure that everyone is seeing his dilated pupils, can see the beat of his heart on his pulse point there, on his neck, they can see him sweating and trembling for the excitation.

He bites his lips because he can't moan, even if he wants to, because this is just too much, and it's just too perfect, and when she sighs in pleasure, he feels it, the blood going south, liquid heat in his groin, desire and need coming together as he fights the urge to jumps her then and there.

He doesn't think Lisbon would appreciate a quick fuck out in the open, in front of few hundred people. He isn't sure she'd mind that much sitting on the table while going at it, though. Or maybe…

"Jane? you all right?" he looks at her, lost in his world- Lisbon-land, as he calls it (or even better, Lisbon lustful land)- and he grimaces, almost in pain. It's getting a bit too much to bear. He can't take her pout, everything but not the pout. The pout… it's just too adorable, to sexy, and if he looks at her lips… he knows what it will happen if he'll start looking at her lips, he'll start imagining kissing her, making her lips full and turgid, and it'0s not fair. He shouldn't torture himself so much, and she shouldn't as well, doesn't matter she doesn't know. She is supposed to be a saint. A saint should be off limit, and shouldn't awakens after almost a decade of abstinence a burning need in his body to have her, brand her as his own with teeth, tongue and fingers and his cock. He shouldn't want her.

But he does.

"Jane?" she calls him again. He gulps, and shakes his head like to clear his thoughts, thinking, hoping that all this talking about death and tombs will let her think he is somehow troubled confused, even hurt, maybe trapped by memories. The way she looks at him with sad eyes, lowering immediately her face, whispering a quiet "oh" makes him understand that he has been right. Lisbon believes him to be in the past, she believes him to be trapped in the instant he had to choose what was supposed to written on his family's tombs- she doesn't know he put just their names.

"You…. Uhm… you have some ice cream…." He indicates her upper lip, so full, so red, as red as the cherry he ate on top of the white mountain of sugary sweetness, and he hopes she can't see how he is trembling, how unsure he is. Almost scared.

He hasn't wanted a woman in almost a decade, and lately, having Lisbon all for himself, naked in a bed high from the endorphins released from a mind-blowing orgasm seems to be the only thing he can think of… well, actually, not all the images he has of her high after a mind blowing orgasm, caused by him and him alone, involve a bed. Actually, just few of them do, if he wanted to be completely honest. Sometimes, his favorite setting is the CBI, and he thinks of quickies, still almost completely dressed, in the bathrooms or on her couch (or even better: he likes thinking of taking her against a wall, the wall of her office, forcing Lisbon to bite on his hand to suppress her cry of ecstasy).

Sometimes, he dreams of her, calling him in her office, and he can see Lisbon handcuffing him to the chair, and free his murderous erection from the confines of his trousers. Those times, she gets naked for him, completely, slowly, seductively, like a professional strip-tease.

In those dreams, she straddles his lap, and she takes him inside her tiny body, to the hilt, with a slow and sensual movement, singing a series of "oh", "hum", "ah" and purring like a nasty kitty, sounds of pleasure and surprise when she realizes how well endowed her soon to be lover is. She rides him, in those fantasies, fucking him into oblivion, leaving nothing of him, moving her hips on his sensually and slowly – to sensually torture him, prolonging the pleasure and at the same time the pain of the need- almost forcing him to not come (he can't, she is his mistress), his head buried between her breasts, lips and teeth busy in biting and licking and sucking the tender skin, hardening beyond comprehension the soft, exquisite blooms that are her nipples, her hands buried in his curls, exploring the soft texture, massaging his scalp and yet, at the same time, keeping him close, oh so close to her chest, as close as possible, no space between their bodies, until they can't take it any longer, the both of them, and she uses her yoga tricks (yes, she knows them, and he knows she does) to constrict her inner muscles around Jane's thrusting shaft, and the feel of him, hardening, widening further more into her tiny body is too much, and she'd want to scream, but she can't, she knows she can't, not with the office out there, everybody behaving like they do normally because they are going on with their lives like they always do, so while Jane bits her breast, marking her like his own property with the mark of his mouth, she does the same with her own flesh, barely making it, her motionless Jane's signal that it's ok for him to let it go, also because… because it's too much. The sight of Lisbon, coming because of him, around him, it's too much, and biting one last time her breast, he erupts into her, hot spurs of balmy and creamy liquid, his very essence, all for her, all because of her, running in rivulets across their joined bodies…

"You know, this case has been less fun than we originally predicted, and we are both pretty wasted…" he lifts his eyes, his mouth still open. It's not her office. He has imagined everything, like he often does. Teresa Lisbon is in front of him, sure, but she is fully clothed, and they are in a cafe, eating ice cream. Ice cream. The same ice cream that is still on her upper lips -If she doesn't do something about it soon enough, he'll kiss it away, he swears…

"Lisbon, you still…" he motions with his fingers to show her where the creamy spot was, lost, though, in the sight of her. He knows it's wrong, for so many reasons, and, moreover, he knows he shouldn't look this… frail, moved, affected, but he can't help it -Teresa Lisbon is a sight for sore eyes, a sexy vision for sore eyes, a living contrast, such an incredible strength, such a power and determination, authority, inside a oh so tiny body (is everything so tiny about her?).

At her next actions, he gulps, his heart… he isn't sure if it just stopped or is beating so quickly, on the verge of exploding, that he can't feel it any longer.

She traces, slowly, oh so slowly, her upper lip with her right index finger, and then, her tongue- tiny like everything about Lisbon, of the most pink shade of pink, comes out to play, and with the tip, she licks her fingertip first and her mouth later, eyelids heavy, almost closed… eyes that she closes in bliss, moaning at closed mouth, when she swallow her digit, not too much, but enough.

He groans, his head almost hitting the table out of frustration, his erection now too big to be hide, too noticeable. He'll have to remove the jacket, he already knows, and walk with the piece of clothing in front of himself, hoping to manage to keep his dignity intact- it's not his fault, it's her, hers only, because seeing her tongue coming out to play, he just imagined… he imagined himself spread, naked, on her kitchen table, dessert as to say, Teresa towering over him, licking the ice cream, but not from her finger, but from his burning cock, blazing aflame with the passion, her tongue tracing the veins, licking it clean, tip to balls, sucking his tip like it was a lollipop, her tongue in the tiny line at the top, forcing him to give her his pre-cum, and then, swallowing him as deep as possible to erase any trace of candy from him, feeling himself pulsing inside her while he touch her throat, and Lisbon sucking him hard, quickly, up and down, up and down, her tongue still circling him, and then, coming, fucking her mouth with tiny movements will he spouts his seed into her, and Teresa moans, desperate to have more, again, again, more seed, angling her head to give him better access to her mouth, a new, improved, angle, so much come that she couldn't swallow all, falling into tiny rivulets from the angles of her lips….

Or maybe…

He can see the other way around. He can see Lisbon being the one completely naked on the table, hips on the edge, the cold of glass a strange, but not completely unwelcome, contrast with her skin, burning, in flames, sweat from every pore of her body, breathing heavy, foretasting what's to come.

Around his neck, not her arms, but legs, her calves interlaced at his back, her feet caressing teasingly and sensually his still shirt-clad bust, her hands searching desperately for something to hold onto, but finding nothing- she can't reach his head in this position, and there's nothing covering her table if not her naked form.

She reaches for her breasts, at the end, even if they were supposed to be for him; she pinches between thumb and index the nipples, like they were to spread some kind of juice, and then, she cups, them, fully, taking them into her hands, as much s possible, spreading the cream that's there all over her torso, rubbing it all over there- she isn't thinking of the ice-cream, isn't seeing it, what she is imagining it's his come on her skin.

His mouth is busy between her legs.

She whimpers under him, bucking her hips against his face while he licks clean her entrance with long, slow movements of his tongue, the same entrance that he has previously sprayed with ice cream, a cherry on top. His nose nuzzles her pubes, the tip dirty with a tear of white sweetness.

He thrusts into her with his tongue, and at the same time he penetrate her with his fingers, his thumb pressing on her clit all the time, keeping her there, in an eternal state of pre-orgasm. She keeps being almost there, but he doesn't allow her to come, doesn't make her.

He spread his legs, and with his free hand, he unbuckled his pants, he frees his cock. He keeps pleasuring her, and, at the same time, with one hand, he pleasures himself, pumping in tempo with the exhilarating movements of the other hand and of his tongue. He spans his own cock with his hand, fingers moving up and won on his skin, hard as steel, so hard it's almost touching his stomach, and he spreads his pre-come on himself.

It's great, it's like nothing he has ever felt before, so much pleasure floating through his own self, like fire, like a river during a storm. He needs her, and he feels like he'll never have enough of her, of what they are doing together. He'll never have his fill of Teresa Lisbon and her marvelous, spicy juices.

He feels her juices covering his tongue, and he drinks her in, and in the same instant, his hands is covered with his own seed, hot, creamy, balmy. He doesn't stoop to devour her, like he doesn't stop to pump his cock, keeping coming, more and more, until something even ends on her skin, and she reaches for it, playing with it, spreading it all over she can…

"Ok, you know, I hope you'll not space out as well while you'll be driving…" she grins, smiling, trying to lower the tension (she thinks his heart is troubled by terrible visions of sufferance) and then stands up, taking her jacket before leaving. "I swear, Jane, I don't know what got into today…"

He stands as well, grinning, yes, but one of his sad smiles (or at least so she thinks; he is just in so much physical pain…), his jacket folded in front of him to cover his groin while he walks; he tells her just a word before disappearing inside the elevator. "Sitophilia" -she looks at him quizzically, lifted eyebrows, adorable put, already thinking about checking the dictionary when she'll be at home.

He quickly comes back to the office, ready to run to hide into the attic. He feels his beloved cavern calling for him, remembering him that he is in dire need of a decent jerk-off- he knows that when he'll come into his hand, he'll think of her hand spanning his cock…He hopes it will be enough. He doubts it, though, but he knows he still has to do it, as "unpleasant" as it is- it's not like he can spend the entire day walking with his jacket in front of him, in winter, and besides, he tends to be a little distracted and out of focus when he is that hard.

And suddenly, as he smirks his mischievous smile, his cat-got-the canary smile, all he can think of is stopping by at an ice cream vendor. Before visiting Lisbon, of course.

She goes home when it's already late- she told Jane she was calling it a night, but the office called first, apparently, and paperwork as well (apparently, the boss, even if he is a fan, still thinks that there's a hell of a lot of paperwork to resurrect a man, previously declared dead. More or less.).

She walks through the door, barely standing, craving a shower and a her night attire (her jersey, a short pair of shorts, or maybe just panties if she feels like. And this night, she definitely feels like), the dictionary completely forgotten. She doesn't even care too much. Jane, is, well, he is Jane. She doesn't give too much thought to what he does or says, he is a living encyclopedia (a sexy, living encyclopedia) and he always says the most random things. So, probably, he just told her the first word that come to his mind to elude the fact that he was day-dreaming, lost in thoughts, or who knows where….She hopes it was a nice place, though. He suffered enough, and he deserves to be free, Red John or not.

It's another hour before curiosity gets the better out of her. She is casually walking through her living room, putting back in place everything, hair still damp, naturally curled, skin soft, with the scent of vanilla. And she doesn't even do that in purpose. It'0s not like she decides to give a look at the dictionary, quite the opposite. She searches for the word because the dictionary happens to be one of the things she is supposed to put back where it belongs. So, she sits on the couch, sipping a bit of red wine from her glass, all the while flipping through the book, until here it is, the word he uttered early the day.

She almost spits the beverage when she reads the definition, and the possibility that it has been random, it stops to cross her mind. It's impossible, but yet again, she can't believe that it's true, also because if it's true…

_Sitophilia: a sexual fetishism in which participants are aroused by erotic situations involving food. _

Food. They were eating when he said the word. They were having ice cream. And Sitophilia involves sex. And food. And Jane connected their food… the ice cream… to… to something sexual…related… maybe… to her?

She blushes like a schoolgirl, but grinning, almost giggling. Now she understands why he kept spacing out and mostly why, in December, he removed his jacket to keep it in front of himself. It's not because he is weird… it was because…. Because he was aroused by her and the ice cream. (Oh lord. She is almost mad with him. She can't believe he kept for himself the sight of his primary attributes…)

Dictionary and wine forgotten on the table, she sits, stretching, on her couch, closing her eyes and already moaning as one hand lifts her jersey, revealing her naked breasts, nipples already hard out of desire, while the other massages her taunt abdomen, caressing the skin around her navel, descending until the hem of her panties, electric blue lace and silk. She plays with the soft material, while she pinches her nipples, unaware that the same day Jane day-dreamed of her doing the same, and then she cups her breast with her tiny hand- it's full, rounded, creamy, big but still proportioned to her body.

She gasps when, finally, with one finger, she skims over her folds, her panties still on, wet with desire. She plays there for a while, like torturing herself, and then, she does it. She inserts in her tiny entrance two fingers, her thumb massaging her clit, pressing on it with her arc of her hand. She keeps them still for a while, and she even whimpers in despair, like it was her lover standing still inside her, and then, she moves, she thrusts her fingers inside her, in and out, hard, fast, restless, movements quicker and quicker, her back arching, head thrashing, lips parted, moaning at loud, her walls almost there, she can feel it, her walls almost there, almost contracting around her fingers. Even if it's not her fingers she sees with the third eye, the one of the imagination. Because, in her mind, she is sitting in Jane's lap, his erection, huge, hard, is pressed against her back, and he is pleasuring her with his fingers, long, slender, elegant fingers, made for pleasuring…. She is second to her orgasm, the pleasure running through her veins, when she gasps, hearing at sound at her back, a noise…. Breathing, heavy, irregular, and a scent. Jane's cologne- so hideous, she hates it, sometimes he exaggerates with the stuff.

She turns to look at him, so shocked she momentary forgets to put her clothes where they should be, to cover yet again her body. She sees him, standing still, rigid, eyes wide open with dilated pupils, so big she can't even see the color of his eyes. She can even sees his heartbeat on his pulse point.

He doesn't say a word. She doesn't either. And then…

Then, she sees it. She sees the ice cream in his hands – multi-flavored, Strawberry, Chocolate and vanilla- and she sees…oh God, she can see him through his pants, she can see him all hard, hot and bothered, all for her, because of her.

She bits her lips, almost giggling, a mischievous expression printed on her face. She hopes she is reading him well, and she hopes he'll not freak out on her. She doesn't need that, can't allow that, but she needs him, needs what she knows now he can provide. He got her all hot and bothered with that damn word… now, he has to accept that for every action there's a consequence, and his consequence will have a night of pleasure, and fun - he is going to be her sexual ice cream slave for a night. Then, she'll see if keeping him on for the duty or not.

She stands, and lifts the shirt completely from her body, throwing it on the pavement, not giving a damn about where it will end, and the same she does with her panties, only, a way slower, like the action could add spice, could make everything more seductive. He gulps, but he doesn't move away. If anything, his eyes darken, and he… studies her with hooded eyes, hair leaving his parted lips in little puffs of hot, boiling air.

She gets closer and closer, and then, she takes him for the lapel of his jacket and guides him wherever she wants him to go- he doesn't fight back, just does as she wishes, following in complete silence her, like a devoted slave ; as they walk back toward the couch where, seconds before, she was pleasuring herself, he gets a good glimpse of her rear, firm, round, and of her slender back. A sinful image connected to the one of the afternoon, but still different, new, but sinful nevertheless, hits his brain full force: Lisbon bent over the table of her kitchen, ice cream on her back, on her neck, and him licking it away while he fucks her from behind and, at the same time, he pleasures her with his fingers, feeling his own cock slamming in and out of her against his own hand… -He gets back to reality when his legs hit the couch, and he feels Lisbon kneeing in front of him, spreading his legs with her body, unzipping his pants and freeing his murderous erection from its confines.

She hears her gasping, and he moans in pleasure and agony, in ecstasy and pain, his cock hard, erect, huge, hot. She smiles, biting her lips, and sighs in content as she is going to nuzzle his pubes, but she stops, just few centimeters shy from his body, and still seductively, slowly, skimming over the length of his body with just her fingertips in all the right places, his sides, his nipples, his biceps, she gets an hold of the jar of the ice cream. - He has fantasized about it, and it's only right that he'll have a taste of this sinful and rather kinky obsession of this. An obsession she doesn't mind.

Strawberry is her choice, her favorite taste – until now, she is quite sure that nothing can beat strawberry mixed with Jane – and the ice cream is melted enough to allow her to take it directly with her fingers; soft, but not slushy. She traces his veins, throbbing with desire, with her ice-cream covered fingertip, slowly, looking at it, at him, with something that's a mixture of reverence, surprise and curiosity - Jane, hard, hot and bothered, all for her, because of her, is a sight to cherish – and then traces those same veins with her tongue, licking him clean, pressing at the same time her finger on the tip of his dick, getting it as dirty as she wants and needs it.

The tip of her tongue enters in the tiny line, begging him for his pre-cum, agonizing for it, and when he starts to give it to her, Jane's head thrown back, his hands clenching the cascade of raven hair, she moans, and attacks him furthermore, taking as much as him in her mouth as possible, the tip of his cock hitting the back of her throat, and she goes down on him working his whole length with her tongue, with just the desire to take no prisoners.

She wants to know, needs to know how she'll feel when he'll come into her mouth, she wants to know how his juices will taste when mixed with ice cream. Damn man, she thinks, he transformed her into a kinky-obsessed maniac. It's all his fault. His and of the ice cream, and now…. He'll have to pay.

All the while, he knows. He knows she is sucking him dry, aiming for his release, knows she just wants to milk him dry, feeling his semen into her mouth… and while he whimpers under her, listening to her moans of appreciation while he thrusts with tiny, slow and sensual movement between her lips, fucking her mouth, he realizes that he can't have it, doesn't want to. It's not how it's supposed to happen. Not now, at least, not their first time together.

He isn't going to lie: it's been years since the first time he has dreamt of making Teresa Lisbon a property of his own, since the first time he has thought about marking her with his seed into her tiny body… and it's not about just lust any longer- even if lust has a good part in it, actually – this is about…

He doesn't know how to say it, doesn't know how to explain it. He just thinks… he is scared… that if she'll give him oral sex now, if he'll come into her mouth, she'll see just as that, sex, while it's not sure this is what he just wants. He doesn't know any longer. He gets confused, when it comes to Lisbon.

He doesn't even care about the ice-cream any longer.

"Not… not now… just…this once…." He maneuvers, and tackles her in the same way he has seen her doing so many times, and before she could realizes it, she is on the carpet, on her back, her legs wide open, ready for his intrusion, her folds throbbing with desire, glistening with her desire for Patrick Jane.

She interlaces her arms on top of her head, like some sensual creature from some fantasy world, crossed wrists like they were handcuffed, and gets ready for him. Jane braces himself on his forearms, at each side of her head, being careful of not hurting her, not crushing her with his weight, and while, smiling, he nuzzles her nose, his dick teases her entrance. She whimpers, bucking behind him, and then, he takes pity on her, and whit a hard, quick stroke, he enters her to the hilt, his balls hitting her ass, her legs around his waist.

He moves inside her, hard, firm, quick strokes, while he buries his head between her breasts, tongue and mouth busy with her nipples, alternating. She cries out in pleasure and agony, her inner walls almost tore apart by his huge length every time he leaves her body almost completely just to penetrate her once again, every time stronger, harder. He lifts his head, and pants into her face, sweat cascading from his blond, sticky curls onto her body.

She is close, so close- she has worked herself up too much with her earlier stimulation, and he is close, so close – it's been so long, too long, he can't last, will not last, and when he'll come because of her, for the first time, he wants, he needs, to be inside her, and he feels it, just there, his killer orgasm, whispering into his ear. He quickens his pace, delighted by the way Lisbon arches her body, meeting him thrust for thrust, complementary, like two pieces of the same puzzle, and he knows it's there, and he wants her there with him as well.

His thumb finds her opening, finds her clit, and he starts to press on it, with all the force he can manage in this situation, his body almost rigid at times, others almost like jelly, and at the same time he penetrate her, with just one finger, though, and while he fucks her with his fingers, fucks her with his cock, his lips find her mouth, and he gets lost in an apparently lost kill, wet, open mouthed, but sweet and slow as well, passion and lust and love all mixed together.

He feels it, the moment her inner muscles contract around his shaft, ad it that moment, he parts from her face, and he looks at her, studies her, fascinated by the sight that's Lisbon while she is coming, lips parted, almost obscenely, screaming out all the pleasure, her nails marking his back with red lines, head thrashing wildly, eyes hooded one moment and completely open the next one, when she reaches the high she so craved.

His cock slams against his hand every time he thrusts in and out of her, and seeing her coming, feeling her coming, it's too much, and he gets rigid, his cock widening, hardening furthermore for a sec inside her body, and then, everything is white and black and lights, and he feels it, his come, slashing into her, and she accepts it, she craves it, changing slightly the angle to take more of him inside her, all of him, his cum running into tiny rivulets escaping from her opening.

At the end, he collapses on top of her, and Lisbon, while he pants in the crock of her neck, buries her hands in his curls, and keeps him there, in place. And she laughs, as a thought crosses her mind.

"You know, I think that in a while I'll really feel like having myself a chocolate ice cream… you think we could find a cone somewhere here?"

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><p>anyone, reviews? good, bad? I don't bite (hard, and just if you ask me...)<p> 


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